Chapter Text
It’s been two months since Henry was killed and it’s been two hours since William Byers has talked to Michael Wheeler.
It’s not strange. He is supposed to be asleep. He was supposed to have been sleeping for two hours. But, if it hasn’t been made clear already, he doesn’t want to. Well–his body certainly does. His limbs feel almost numb with lethargy and he doesn’t think he could move them if he tried.
But Will doesn’t want to sleep. His mind doesn’t want to. How could he with Mike Wheeler next to him? The boy who he has been utterly obsessed with practically since they met.
But it’s late. Very late. And they have a big day with the whole party tomorrow. So Will should sleep. He really really truly should.
But he doesn’t.
So he doesn’t. He keeps on wishing that Mike’s beautiful face was turned to look at his as they engaged in some stupid fun conversation. Maybe about DND or some new comic that he’s read. It wouldn’t matter what topic it would be, just so long as it’s Mike.
Mike. Gorgeous idiot Mike. The only boy–or rather person–that he had ever been in love with. The only person he will ever be in love with.
Will feels his cheeks go pink as he bites back a smile. It almost sounds excessive to say but he knows those words truer than any other. He loves Mike and he almost definitely always will. No matter the pain and anguish that this love brought him over the years, he knows that Mike is it for him, whether that be for better or worse.
Of course though, that doesn’t mean that Will expects anything back. Mike is straight and he knows that. That doesn’t stop it though. That doesn’t stop the internal fire that Will feels every time Mike so much as looks at him. That doesn’t stop the longing and the pining and the craving. The stolen glances and the intentionally unintentional flirting.
But Mike is straight. He doesn’t like boys and he definitely doesn’t like him.
That’s just something that Will has come to terms with. He has to accept Mike’s unfailing heterosexuality, as unfortunate as it might be for him, it’s never going to change, along with his feelings. No matter how hard he hopes and dreams.
He’s tried to change. God knows how hard he’s tried. He’s tried to run and hide and stop these feelings. He’s tried to listen to those around him. Tried to squash down these unnatural desires that swirl around inside him, feeling oh-so natural. But he can’t. He just can’t help the fact that he’s gay and in love with his best friend.
Will used to hate himself for it. He’s spent years of his life crying and screaming and begging for change. For conformity. For normalcy.
He still does sometimes. But here and now, on the floor of Mike’s bedroom after a long day spent solely with the love of his life, he doesn’t think it to be that bad at all.
Will adjusts his sleeping bag, his gaze not faltering on the same spot it’s rested on for the last two hours. The back of Mike’s head. His neck is covered by the dark blue blanket but his hair is visible to Will, if only by the light of the full moon.
Mike stirs, if only slightly, causing Will’s eyes to shoot down onto his sleeping bag as if he had been looking there the whole night. Surely he hadn’t noticed the staring.
“Will?” Mike asks, his voice croaky from sleep. He almost sounds unsure, but it’s probably nothing. He should stop trying to over analyse everything that his best friend does and says. He wasted too much time on that already. “Will, are you still awake?”
Will can’t hold himself back from replies immediately, much to his own dismay. “Yeah.”
Mike doesn’t respond straight away, as if he’s being cautious. But why would he be cautious? They do this all the time. It’s only Will after all.
“Will,” Mike stops and takes a breath before speaking again, “Can you…”
Will already knows the answer. He always does. He would do anything for Mike.
“Will, can you come up here?”
Can he do what? Mike wants Will, the boy who is hopelessly in love with him to what? To spend the night in his bed? With him? He may as well have been asking him to jump off a cliff with the way Will’s heart reacted.
Mike clears his throat, politely adding, “Please.”
Fuck.
You know what? Fuck Mike. Fuck Mike with his stupid cute voice and stupid cute questions. Fuck Mike for having Will utterly and completely wrapped around his finger. Fuck Mike for having Will leaving the warm of his sleeping bag and getting into the bed of his crush and best friend. Because of course—of course he complies. It’s Mike. He’s not gonna refuse.
Mike shuffles over as Will stands, shivering in the cold night air. It’s a large enough bed so when he does get in, he has enough room, if only just. The blankets are warm and so is the sheet below him, all from Mike’s body heat. The sheet that Mike was lying on merely seconds ago. The sheet now pressed up against his back. Oh shit. He’s so screwed. He’s so fucking screwed.
Will can feel Mike’s gaze on him but he refuses to meet it, no doubt paralysed by the fear of doing something stupid that he’ll regret later. Like kissing him. Like kissing him. Oh how he wishes he could just turn around, lean in and—shut up. How he could just shut up and act normal around his best friend who he just so happens to be sharing a bed with. Now is not the time to fantasise about kissing Mike. Now might actually be the worst time to fantasise about kissing Mike.
Will hears Mike swallow and exhale, as if preparing for what he’s about to say. Out of his peripheral vision he sees Mike open his mouth but stop himself. Against his much better judgment, he rolls over, curiosity getting the better of him. Shit.
Mike looks heavenly which is funny considering that Will can barely make out his features in the limited light. Not that he needs to see them to know. He’s studied and drawn him enough to know every curve and slope and freckle that makes up Mike’s face. He knows every beautiful inch of his face better than he knows anything else.
Although Will can’t make out the finer details, he knows that something is wrong. Mike’s eyes are too fleeting and his breath is too scattered. He’s worried, maybe even scared but almost definitely nervous. For what what? Having Will in his bed? No. No, that couldn’t be the case.
“I need to tell you something.”
As soon as the words leave Mike’s lips, regret washes over him like ice sliding down his back. When will he learn that he sometimes needs to just shut up? Will doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t even want to know. And if he did know, Mike is sure as hell that he wouldn’t want to be sharing a bed with him. He probably wouldn’t even want to be sharing a room with him.
What would Mike even say? Oh hey Will yeah guess what I’m gay and I’m hopelessly in love with you? No. He can’t just run his mouth like that. He can’t just confess just his feelings, especially not in such a blasé way while Will is literally mere centimeters from his face. In his bed. Will is mere centimeters away from his face lying in his bed. Fuck.
Fuck. Mike has absolutely no clue why he invited Will into his bed. God knows it’s not made whatever the hell he’s trying to do easier. Sure, it might be a little self indulgent–or rather, incredibly self indulgent of him but it’s not as if he’s getting any joy from this. All of those positive feelings have been overshadowed by the terror that has infiltrated his being, snaking its way through his bones and right to his heart.
“Mike?” A beautiful but nervous voice cuts like a knife through his overwhelming dread. Will. Of course it’s Will. “Mike? Are you okay?”
Is Mike okay? No. Of course he’s not okay. He hasn’t been okay in a very fucking long time. Not since Will was taken from him all those years ago. Not since he jumped off a cliff to save his friends stupid teeth. Not since he watched his best friend and love of his life fight for his life over and over again. Not since the world started throwing everything it could at him. Not since he forced himself to date a girl he never liked and forced himself to lie to her over and over again. No. Mike hasn’t been okay in a very very very fucking long time. But that wasn’t what Will was asking so Mike doesn’t need to tell him.
Will wants to know if Mike, in this current moment, is okay.. He just accidentally forced himself to admit the stupid feelings he had been doing an excellent job at repressing so far–so no. The answer is still no. But he won’t say that. He can’t say that. So instead he says nothing. He tears his eyes away from beautiful Will, rolls onto his back and stares into the ceiling, no words leaving his lips because he knows that he can’t. He can’t tell Will the truth. Not yet at least.
Mike should say something. He should lie and say that everything is okay. That he is okay. That he’s always been okay. That nothing is wrong. That he’s not gay and his life isn’t practically over because of that. That he’s not totally and utterly in love with his best friend who will never reciprocate those painful feelings.
But he doesn’t. He doesn't say anything. Those words, the ones that should flow effortlessly off his tongue as the truth always should, never come. No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t.
So Mike just lies there. He doesn’t move, or rather tries his hardest not to. He wants to. He really wants to. As much as he tries to keep those unnatural desires far from him, nothing truly would be better than wrapping his hands around Will and pulling him close. Nothing would be better than joining their lips together and–No. Everything would be better. Not being gay and in love with his lifelong best friend would be better. Much much better.
Mike doesn’t know what he was expecting to achieve by saying that he needed to tell Will something. Maybe some part of him, deep down, wanted to hear him say it back. To hear him say those words. Those cursed but so so beautiful words.
I love you too.
But that’s not what happened. That’ll never happen. Will just asked that damned question. He asked if Mike was okay. What the fuck. No. Shit. He’s not.
There’s no universe where Mike ever could be okay. Not with the situation that he’s found himself in for his entire life. He lives in a town where everyone hates people like him. They get called queers, fairies, faggots— hell, Will’s not even gay but he’s had to deal with getting called those names and worse his entire life. Even by Mike.
It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.
Painful regret lingers in his throat like vomit, threatening to come up and expel itself from his mouth. He wishes more than anything else in the world that he had never let those words leave his lips. He wishes that the fight had never happened. He wishes that he would’ve just stayed with Will in the basement playing DND because yes, fuck, that is what he wants to do for the rest of his life. Will was right. Will was always right. Will is always right. But in the moment, that didn’t matter, because of course–of course–Mike was never good at shutting up. No, his specialty was running his mouth all the way to the grave he was perpetually digging himself.
That, he supposes, is what got him in the stupid mess in the first place. Lying next to Will in his own bed, for time unknown. It could’ve been hours or just seconds but he hasn’t kept track. He should’ve. He definitely should’ve cuz then he would’ve known how long it had taken for Will to realise that he wasn’t ready to say anything and leave. Because that’s what Will is now doing. Leaving. Shit.
He does so slowly. He first lifts up the blankets, careful as he always is, and peels them off him. He waits, as if hoping to not wake up Mike, as if he hasn’t been awake this whole time. He then sits up, surprisingly looking back at Mike. How he doesn’t see his eyes shining in the moonlight, is beyond him. He then turns, his legs falling off the side of the bed. He sighs, as if he’s somehow sad. He’s now standing.
Mike should do something. He should tell Will to stay. He should tell Will everything. So finally, he does, starting in the only way he knows how. The only way that he can understand.
Mike sits up, heart pounding in his hollowing chest. Will’s head whips around to face him, his alluring eyes staring deep into his soul. Mike reaches forward, finding his hand in the darkness. Ignoring the warmth he feels at the sudden contact, he squeezes quickly, not once, not twice, but three times. He waits a second then squeezes for a second. Another second passes and he squeezes quickly again, followed by a longer one. Then he squeezes for a second, then quickly, then squeezes two longer ones.
S T A Y
Mike looks up at Will, praying for understanding. He sees no recognition of the words so he tries again, squeezing out the same word and another.
P L E A S E
Will didn't recognise the Morse code straight away. As shameful as it feels to admit it, he only realised the second time Mike squeezed out ‘stay’. It felt comforting, to say the least. It had been so long since they had communicated with it so Will liked it. He also didn’t mind the added comfort of the hand-holding. Okay–maybe he liked it. Maybe he liked it a lot but it didn’t help the blush that had been slowly creeping its way into his face and neck since the night had begun.
When Mike squeezed out ‘please’, Will could’ve just melted then and there. It seems pathetic to think, but he could’ve–all from the intoxicating mixture of Mike’s shadowed beauty and those words. Stay.
So Will stayed. How did he ever think he could leave? Especially when Mike looks like this. He looks almost broken. He’s looking up at Will from the bed, eyes impossibly wide and desperate, begging for Will to stay. And it works. It always works. Will stays—there was no universe where he would ever actually leave.
“I…” Mike clears his throat, “I need to tell you something.”
Will slowly nods. He already knew that. He squeezes back O K, and with some previously hidden confidence, interlaces their fingers. The added skin-on-skin contact makes him warm all over but he can’t think about that right now. He needs to focus on Mike.
“But I don’t want to—I can’t say it aloud.”
As he climbs back into the bed, Mike’s eyes seem to dart everywhere but to his own, but when he does find them, Will can’t help but notice the emotion clouding them. He’s always been the best at reading Mike, something that tends to come after knowing someone for 12 years, but he can’t seem to decipher his expression this time. He’s anxious–almost definitely–but there’s something else. Shame maybe? But what’s so shameful about what he wants to tell Will?
What does Mike want to tell him?
Did he get back with El? Is that what all the fuss is about? Will supposes that makes enough sense, seeing as some many people seemed against it in the first place. Well, Hopper practically threatened to kill him over it and Max encouraged the first breakup. Maybe they’re dating again–he was very secretive for the reasons behind the most recent split but Will had been under the assumption that it was mutual. El certainly didn’t hate it and afterwards, it seemed like Mike was a little happier. As if a weight had been lifted off his shoulder.
I M
Okay. Mike's telling Will something about himself, something personal obviously, otherwise his hand wouldn’t have been shaking. Would it be bad for Will to quickly give it a reassuring squeeze or would that be too close to an ‘E’? He settles on a hopeful finger stroke on the back of Mike’s hand–again with this confidence? Where had it been all of his life and why was it only rearing its head now?
S O R R Y
This wasn’t new. Over the last year or so ‘sorry’ had slowly become Mike’s favourite word. At first Will didn’t mind it. It was no secret that Mike hadn’t been treating him the best, especially not in the summer of ‘85 or when he visited California. But that stupid ‘sorry’ word had slowly changed meaning. It no longer meant; ‘let me fix this mistake’ but ‘I blame myself too much for this stupid little mistake please don’t hate me even though I know I deserve it’. But he didn’t. He never ever deserved it.
“Can I speak?” Will asks softly, as if not to startle Mike.
Will sees the silhouette beside him nod.
“I– What for?”
Mike releases a small scared sigh. Will resists the urge to hold him tightly. To cradle his frightened body and tell him that everything will be okay. He settles on shifting himself closer to him.
E V E R Y T H I N G
“Mike. Don’t blame yourself for–”
Mike squeezes Will’s hand tightly.
N O
“No?”
M Y F A U L T
“Okay.”
I T R E A T E D Y O U L I K E S H I T
Mike pauses.
I N E V E R M E A N T T O H U R T Y O U
Of course Mike never meant to him. Mike would never intentionally hurt any of his friends but that didn’t soften the blows he had previously been dealt. That didn’t save Will from all the tears he soaked his pillow in. That didn’t save Will from the self loathing that inevitably came from their arguments.
Will had forgiven Mike a long time ago but that didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to be a little bitter from time to time.
I W A S S O F O C U S E D O N E L T H A T I N E G L E C T E D Y O U
Well this wasn’t anything new necessarily. Mike had told Will as much when he came to visit California.
“I know Mike, but that was so long ago–”
N O I H U R T Y O U
Against every fibre of logic in his being, Will moves impossible closer to Mike for the second time. He presses their bodies close, hopefully communicating his forgiveness in the new affection.
“Will–I haven’t–I haven’t been honest with you.”
A painful knot forms in Will’s stomach. He knew, didn't he? Mike knew about Will–about his sinful love. That’s what Mike knows. And he’s going to tell Will–isn’t he? He’s going to tell him that he’s not gay and he doesn’t want to be friends with a faggot like him.
“I-” Mike’s voice cracks.
Will moves away from Mike, preparing himself for the next attack.
“You don’t have to say it aloud Mike.” You don’t have to say it at all. Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it. Please don’t—
I M W R O N G
That wasn’t what Will was expecting. At all.
But Mike wasn’t wrong. Not like Will was.
Mike could never be wrong. He was right. He was so right.
I M N O T N A T U R A L
Oh but he was. He was as natural as the sun and the moon and the stars. He was as natural as the woods they had played in as children, as natural as the grass they would lie on as and as natural as the rain they fought in. He always felt natural to Will, their hands together like two long lost puzzle pieces, frayed and worn but still fitting as if they’d never been separated. Fitting as if they were meant to be one.
“You’re natural to me,” Will softly says, as quiet as he can manage. Mike pauses for a painful moment then shakes his head sadly.
“But you don’t–I need to tell you Will. I need to tell you. I can’t just keep doing this.”
Will understands. God does Will understand that. But he’s been doing it his entire life, he can hold on just a little longer. He needs to hold on a little longer.
I M G A Y
Will doesn’t move. He doesn't breathe and his heart doesn’t beat. He can’t now and maybe he never will. Maybe he’ll just be stuck in this frozen state forever. Maybe he’s dead and this is his punishment. To be stuck in Michael Wheeler’s bed, being so so so close to him but internally so so so far away.
Mike is gay. Mike is gay. Mike is gay–
He feels Mike move beside him so that the sides of their bodies are no longer pressed together. Shit. Mike probably thinks that Will hates him right now. Shit. He should say something, shouldn’t he?
“Mike—“
Will is cut off by Mike’s voice.
“Can we just—can we just sleep?” Mike sounds frail, as if tears linger just below the surface.
“Would you like me to—“
“Yes. Please.”
Will nods, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position on his side. He gives Mike’s hand a quick squeeze before he sees his best friend close his eyes, his own following quickly after.